Zandatsu Rain
by SteveElOtaku
Summary: Post MGR, Raiden's taken to the streets, dispensing justice and hoping to just wash away with the rain. He has no hope left...but a chance encounter with a mysterious man may change everything...


I am lightning. The rain, transformed. So then… why am I so afraid?

It's raining right now in New York City, the ghostly remnants of my past flickering away into the neon night as I sit in a greasy spoon on the corner. I should be mostly eating nanopaste, but even though my taste receptors aren't what they were, I still love a good meal.

New York City. I thought I'd never see this town again. Not after what happened nine years ago…

I'd been a fresh-faced FOXHOUND rookie set to investigate terrorists at the Big Shell cleanup facility. It was a simple job. Get in, kill the bad guys, and rescue the president. Just like all my VR training.

Except it wasn't a simple job. It wasn't simple at all…

Memes. Snakes. The Patriots. S3 Plan… it all drifts through my mind like nightmares. The Big Shell…was nothing more than a test. I was nothing more than a pawn for the Patriots… and everyone saw it. Nothing, or at least very little, was real. I was forced to question everything I knew. Even my own girlfriend, Rose… she told me she had been spying for them. Spying on me… the only reason she started dating me was to do their dirty work. But she'd fallen for me… genuinely…

The truth. It can really screw you up.

Then I had to kill my "godfather." Solidus Snake.

I stood there, on top of Federal Hall, in this very city, nine years ago… blood dripping from my sword and me hoping I'd never have to do it again.

Poor Rose. She'd tried to help me to make up for all the shit that had happened. All the lies, the masquerade… but she couldn't mend me. Because I wasn't a rookie with FOXHOUND, a stranger to combat, a pacifist—I was none of those things. Solidus Snake saw to that. After all, he raised me. He murdered my parents and raised me like his own son…

No, not like his own son.

Like a soldier.

I was a child soldier in Liberia. I was fighting and killing since practically the age I could walk. But what was worst of all is that I enjoyed it. I was drunk on the thrill of fighting and killing. Blood was my milk and steel was my blanket.

They called me "Jack the Ripper." The mere mention of my name, the mere sight of my pale blonde hair and scrawny ten-year-old frame scared the living daylights out of them. And who could blame them? I was lethal. No kid should be that skilled with a knife. No sane kid.

The UN came in soon enough and got the operation shut down, and they rescued me. But I never stopped being haunted. Everywhere I go, every breath I take, every single moment… the Ripper is waiting.

The waitress walks around again, a perky smile on her face and a neat little uniform. She trips, nearly spilling the coffee… but I catch it, every single drop.

She's all apologies and shock, but I tell her not to worry about it as I pay the bill and sip down the coffee.

Reminds me of my days with Maverick, with Courtney always leaving her mug where it could fall.

God, I miss them. But I can't go back.

I walk out into the rainstorm, my umbrella keeping the rain off my long black coat and suit. I'm just trying to blend in—though I'm no longer wearing such a high collar, I still feel self-conscious, even if the new artificial skin is barely distinguishable from the real thing.

I walk a few blocks, passing all manner of stores, and then I walk through the red light district. I normally try to avoid it—I'm married, for one, and for another thing, cyborgs aren't always welcome there—but it's got a ton of awnings and shelter, and if I can let my umbrella have a break I don't mind. I like feeling the wind through my hair. It's one of the few real sensations I've got left.

A girl walks up to me, barely legal and barely dressed, and leans on me.

"Looking for a good time, hot stuff?"

And that's when she sees the scars. I've got a scar across my mouth, one I can't get rid of, and it marks where I start being totally artificial.

She panics and runs back, eagerly propositioning some bored young man in a backwards cap.

It's a damn good thing I'm married. I probably couldn't even pay to get any love.

Just then I hear a girl being slapped.

"You got my fuckin' money?"

The girl's crying. And that's when I see him. A pimp, beating her up…probably she doesn't even make enough to get by… and he wants all of her money. I see the bruises all over her and I get even madder. Jack wants out. I restrain the thought and walk up to the two.

_Kill him._

"Leave her alone." I say calmly.

"Back off tin man, this doesn't fuckin' concern you!"

I calmly reach for the HF blade I keep on my hip. I don't draw it. But I do reach for it—sometimes intimidation is enough.

"It concerns me when an innocent is being abused by predatory scum like you."

"She never fuckin' pays me! I made her! I gave her what she wanted!"

My sensors pick up traces of meth, cocaine…

"So you just fed her addiction. Instead of getting her help, you made it worse. You used her, because you saw a profit…"

"Hey, this is America! Gotta make money where you can!"

I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

_A waste of life… kill him! I wanna play!_

"Ever hear of Desperado, LLC?" I growl.

"That PMC shit?"

"Yeah. They thought they could make money anywhere, too. They're dead."

"What's that got to do with this?"

I laugh.

"Because I'm Raiden. I'm the man who brought them to their knees. And one nobody pimp like you doesn't scare me one little bit."

The pimp pulls a knife and holds the girl hostage, the knife at her throat.

"Don't fuckin' move! I'll do it! I'll fuckin' do it!"

_Let me out, Jack! I want to play…NOW!_

I can't fight it. I feel my sensors go out of control. My eyes start glowing red, and the pimp starts freaking out. But he still won't put the knife down.

"_Ha. Ha. Ha. I'm Jack, asshole… wanna play?!"_

_I draw the blade and switch it on… OH YEAH… that feels good…_

No, I can't be doing this…

_I'm going to tear this fucker apart…_

I feel my body, against my will, swing the knife down…

I jerk it back, fighting against Jack with all my might. It hits the pimp's hand, leaving a minor cut, and he drops it. I charge my fist, and punch the pimp clean out. I make sure to bandage up his hand, before placing a quick call to the cops. I hadn't meant to take things that far, but at least Jack is quiet again.

The girl is shaking.

"_How _much _did that fucker_ take from you?"

Oh god. It still came out with a hint of Jack.

She begins crying her eyes out, shaking and backing away. I extend a hand, but she just slaps me and goes back to hiding in a corner.

"J-just leave! Y-you can't help me…"

I see her go and take the pimp's cash he'd probably taken from her earlier on. The cops roll up soon enough, but by that point I've already ran to the rooftops, and have made a hasty exit down another back alley.

Everyone's afraid of me…and they probably should be.

I continue down the alley, the sirens in the red light district fading.

It's then when I notice a homeless man with broken glasses and a sad smile on his face. There's something really unnerving about him, and it's then I realize that there's no one else around. He holds out an empty coffee cup, and I drop all the change I've got-two pennies.

"Sorry, sir… I haven't got any more change."

The man politely nods, and smiles at me.

"Thank you anyway… Jack."

I freeze up. How does this guy know my name? I've never seen him before!

"Uh…how do you know my name?"

"I know everyone's name, Jack. Or would you prefer Raiden? It's what you call yourself now. Though I must confess, I've always rather liked Jack. I knew a man named Jack once, back in the sixties. He was pretty mixed-up…just like you."

I feel sudden anger. Could this be a former agent of the Patriots?!

"How do you know who I am?" I ask, only letting a hint of anger show.

That's when reality goes out to lunch. I'm suddenly standing in an even emptier alleyway. The rain is pouring down so hard I shouldn't be able to stand it… except it's passing right through me like it's not even there. Lightning flashes everywhere and I hear unearthly moans.

The man is suddenly hovering in front of me, and blood is trickling down his face from behind his glasses lens.

"I am The Sorrow, Jack. This certainly feels…nostalgic. Like old times. It feels almost as if we've met before."

"We can't have met before! You said… the sixties… but… you don't look much older than your forties! How is this possible?"

"I'm dead, Jack. But you know, while I haven't met you… I have met another Jack. All the way back in the USSR."

My blood runs cold as I realize just who he's talking about. He's talking about the world's greatest soldier, the most infamous mercenary that ever lived…

"Big Boss!"

The Sorrow just flies a bit higher, smiling even wider.

"I never liked that name, I must admit. Then again, neither did he…"

"So…so what's the big idea, huh? What's with all the parlour tricks? What does this have to do with me?"

The Sorrow sadly shakes his head and flies down to where I am.

"Because you're his perfect successor."

I sigh. If there's anything I hate it's being called a successor. It reminds me that I've just been a puppet, a tool for people to use my whole life.

"Shut up. I'm not Big Boss's successor. That was Les Enfants Terribles, and look how that turned out."

The Sorrow taps his glasses and smiles knowingly. Crap.

"I didn't mean literally, Jack. I meant in terms of ideology…"

"The last man who said I was a successor to his ideology was Senator Armstrong, and I killed him."

"You hate seeing the weak oppressed. You hate greed and oppression. You love peace, but only feel alive on the battlefield…"

"I'm guessing this is supposed to make me like Big Boss?"

"Why don't we take a walk down memory lane and find out?"

The Sorrow flies away from me…and points down the alley.

I haven't got a choice in the matter. I press onward, and that's when I see the first man I killed. I feel the memories course through me against my will—everything I've suppressed for years…

"Why did you kill me?" the poor man screams, and I have no answer.

I was raised to kill and that was all I knew. I lived on cocaine, gunpowder, and Hollywood. I grew so dead to violence it became routine.

But now, it terrifies me. Because I can't forget these faces. They're all here. Every single man or woman I've ever killed is here.

Soldiers, platoons of them, keep walking towards me, screaming. I shake. I tremble. I can't deal with this…

"Killer!"

"Ripper!"

"Devil!"

"Abomination!"

They all scream these insults at me but I know what they really think…

"Why did you kill me?"

I want to just go Jack the Ripper and forget, for the first time in my life. I want to just hide from the ugly truth. But I can't.

I am a murderer. I am scum.

The Sorrow sees me fall to my knees.

"What do you want from me, you bastard?" I scream.

He doesn't answer.

Instead, I get back on my feet and press on. It takes a lifetime, seemingly, to even walk a metre. My legs feel like lead, and not the light materials Doktor usually uses.

I see Dead Cell. Fatman is laughing as usual, and gives me a big slap on the back and a smile.

It's loathsome that he approves of what I'm doing.

Fortune just cries.

Vamp, who's clearly enjoying being back with his old unit, does a little flamenco dance, and bows, but he's crying and I can tell. If a monster like him can regret…why can't I?

Solidus is there too, he waves, nodding sadly.

"Welcome back, son," he says.

"I'm not your son."

That's what I want to say. But I can't speak. My mouth won't move. I can only breathe in the deathly cold air.

Hundreds more soldiers await.

I finally pull through them, and then find hundreds more, with Desperado's finest hanging about.

Mistral blows me a kiss. It feels like a slap. I try not to look at her. All I can remember is her last words…

"Je t'aime."

I love you. That statement somehow makes it all the worse.

Monsoon is clapping. It's even worse than Fatman. That grin of his…

"You have nothing to be sorry for…" he smirks at me, and if he were corporeal I would slap him so hard for that.

Sundowner is next, and he just salutes me as I walk by, but he's shaking. Terrified.

Sam shakes my hand as best as a ghost can, and says I'm not as bad as I think.

That's a bit comforting, but not nearly comforting enough.

Finally, Senator Steven Armstrong, with a gaping hole in his chest, salutes me.

"Great work, Jack! You've got plenty to be proud of."

My hand burns as if I'm still holding his heart. The rain feels like blood…

I walk by him, trying to run, but I can't quite leave the alley. I break down crying. I cry and cry and can't stop crying.

I know I'm guilty.

I curl up like a child and cry.

Then it all goes black.

I wake up in my apartment, The Sorrow floating nearby.

"Welcome home, Jack" he says, trying to sound kind.

"If you can call it home…"

"Well, it's about to get a lot more like home…"

The door swing open, and there stands Maverick's head staff and Rose…and Little John…

"It's your birthday, Raiden. And you need to come back home." Rose said.

"I have a responsibility to protect the weak…" I say, but it comes out weakly.

"Not everyone is on duty all the time." Boris says, and I have to admit he has a point.

"There's no place like home…" John manages…

I'm reminded of _The Wizard of Oz._ Just click my heels three times and end up home…

I suddenly pass out.

When I awaken, I find my family around me, in a Maverick-affiliated hospital, and Doktor's stuck a feed in me, dripping in electrolytes.

"Gott in himmel, Raiden! What vere you doing out there?! You nearly got yourself killed! No electrolytes left in zat body of yours!"

Doktor is worried. I don't blame him, exactly. Wearily, I raise two fingers behind my head.

"Didn't…you know? I'm Batman! Ha…ha…ha…that wasn't funny, was it?"

There're a few nervous giggles, but everyone is mostly glaring at me.

Rose walks up to me.

"Honey, I can't believe it! Why did you do this?"

I sigh.

"Fighting is all I know…"

And then, Little John just takes my hand and smiles.

"You know me, dad…"

Something is flying behind John…

Oh God. It's the Sorrow.

Wait, what's that he's holding? Some kind of sign?

THE CHOICE IS YOURS.

That's all it says, and he vanishes like he was never there.

"Th-thank you…" I stammer out, before I fall asleep again, the sound of the rain pounding outside echoing through my mind as I dream of a better world.


End file.
